Angel of Doom
by Erik's Other Lover
Summary: Against Erik's better judgment, he decides to crash Christine and Raoul's wedding phantom style.
1. Chapter 1

Random story idea.

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Chapter 1

It has been nearly a month and I am losing my mind. Yes, I admit, I was mad before, but now—I am truly mad.

I cannot suppress these thoughts. I cannot run from them. I can no longer hide in my once safe dark.

What are these thoughts?

Self-pity.

Self-loathing.

Regret.

I cannot think without them creeping into my mind. There isn't a moment when I don't think of her. Her memory is what keeps me alive. It gives me reason to breathe.

I wish with death.

She stole more mortality and left me with these pains of the heart-this great longing and a desire that can never be satisfied.

She was my inspiration. My music. My love.

Perhaps she was never truly mine to love? Her heart may never had been mine, but her voice and her spirit belonged to me. They still do.

I can only hope one day that she will realize that this phantom—this man loved her and still loves her and perhaps she might think of me and what might have been...

I still desire her love. I will forever. She may forget me as time goes on , but I will never forget her. She shared in my emptiness. Her voice called to me. She yearned for my guidance. I nurtured her...I gave her the world—my world, but she threw it back in my face.

I will never understand, nor do I try anymore, but I do wonder what possibilities that our futures would behold if she had chosen me. I would have showered her in gifts—many pretty things. Whatever she desired and more! She would never want or go without. That would be unthinkable. She would be cherished forever. My goddess; I would worship her. She would dress in the finest silks and furs that money could buy! Oh, Christine, you would have the world!

I would love her every morning and night. I would surround her in roses. She would sing for me, with me. I would be a complete man! I would kiss her pretty lips and she would not shrink away. And, she would accept me as I am...

...as Erik. Just Erik and nothing more. A man who loves a divine little goddess and who will cherish her forever! Not the ghost—the phantom, nor the dark angel—she would love the man Erik. All will be as it should!

But it is not so and perhaps never will be. How I wish it were so. And as always, there is someone—something that comes along to crush my hopes and dreams.

I heard that the Vicomte de Chagny and my dearest Christine are to be wed next Sunday.

I wish them—her the best.

Hell, I should make an appearance.

Perhaps I could see her one last time, before she is lost to me forever. One last time before I lose her to that boy? One last time and then, I truly die.

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I would like to think that I'm good at writing "emo" Erik. Reviews are lovely.

Happy Day,

E.O.L.


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize for the shortness of these chapters.

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Chapter 2

It is not easy for me to let go. I have swallowed every single word—every touch—every moment. I have tried to bury it all, but it eats away at this heart of mine. I am trying to hope with nothing to hold onto—nothing to comfort me, if she rejects me once again. I have only this hope—a fool's hope and then nothing.

My carriage halted just outside of the cathedral where my Christine was meant to marry the Vicomte de Chagny. I leaped out, paid the driver, and readjusted my hat to shield my masked face. I took a moment to admire the foreboding structure. Its stain-glass windows were large; filled with depictions of angels, demons, and the holy one. The stonework was dark, its peaks dramatic and Victorian. Elegant.

Pulling the invitation, that I had _acquired_, from my pocket, I checked the address. This was it.

I was early. I took this time to get acquainted with the building. I would need an exit if something dastardly would occur.

Going unnoticed by the pastor and last minute decorators, I slipped in—made my way to the rear of the church. One of the Bible study rooms would surely be used as _her_ dressing room.

My anxiety was great. I pressed my ear to the first study door.

"Do you think Raoul will like it?" My heart sank.

"Of course, Christine! You look beautiful!"

"Thank you, Meg! I am just nervous, I guess."

"Don't worry, dear. I must go see if mother needs help setting up the cake!"

The door opened. I had just enough time to hide around the corner as Meg Giry skipped gleefully down the hall. I stood still for a moment to bury my grief as doubt crept into my mind. If she rejected me once again, I might as well die.

I mustered all of my courage and opened the door silently and slipped in. My breath caught in my chest as I watched her for a silent moment as she sat at her vanity brushing her curly brown locks. Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were pink. Her wedding dress was white—made of the finest silk. She was beautiful.

I watched as her eyes widened as she saw me in the reflection of the mirror. She turned quickly as I stepped closer.

"Angel, is that you?" Her voice was startled.

"Hello, Christine." I removed my hat so she might see my masked face.

"You can't be here." She turned back to the mirror and continued brushing her hair. "I'm getting married today. You should go."

"I hate to turn up uninvited but I could not stay away—I could not fight it."

"Please go."

"I have been trying to do this right, Christine. I have been living my lonely life. I do not know where it went wrong, but I want to make it right," I said quietly. I watched her eyes in the mirror. They were filled with teardrops. "I do not think you are right for him."

"I love Raoul."

"You _belong_ with me."

"I love him," she sad sadly. She turned to look at me. "I wish you might accept that and move on with you life, angel."

I knew that my heart was breaking with anxiety over losing all I held dear. I tried to give myself strength and purpose by telling myself that everything I had ever know and loved was already gone. I felt her slipping away.

"Christine, I ask one thing of you—I know your mind is made up..." I was overwhelmed with sadness at that moment.

"What?" she asked as she wiped the tears from her face. She was beautiful. Even her tears were.

"Hold me close one more time. Say that you love me in this goodbye. Please forgive me, Christine, please." I was groveling before this girl.

"I do love you," she whispered to me as she embraced me.

"Please forgive me for my sins." My tears fell freely now as she held me. "Please forgive me, dear Christine." She pulled back from me, wiping her eyes once again.

"I must go," she said. "Raoul will be expecting me." I nodded, unable to speak. With that, she turned and left me alone once again.

My grief was replaced with rage for the Vicomte. The void in my chest filled with anger—quiet, defeated anger that warranted me the right to my hurt. Something within me snapped. My tears stopped. Heat raced through my body—driving the weakness out of me.

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Reviews, as always, are wonderful.

- E.O.L.


	3. Chapter 3

I would like to apologize for how short these chapters are.

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Chapter 3

I hated her at that moment. I hated Christine for rejecting me once again. I hated the Vicomte for crushing my hopes and dreams that I might ever be a content and happy man!

I knew I was not myself at that moment. I became selfish. My last bit of self-control was gone. I felt the greeness of envy and blackness of hate fester within my heart. I was enraged.

I could hear the wedding music begin. The notes were soft at first, then grew louder. I held my hands to my ears to block it out. They had no right to happiness.

I love her! Nothing will—can ever change that. That boy has never loved her as I have—as deeply as I have—as long as I have. She belongs to me.

I have invested so much into her. So much time—and music—and love!

I stormed from the study room and into the hall, leading to the main portion of the church. I replaced my hat to shield my masked face. If she doesn't want my love, maybe I can force it down the Vicomte's throat and watch him choke on it.

I stood behind the rest of the wedding guests. My eyes scanning for the Vicomte. There he was, standing gaily with his girlish hair at his shoulders in a white and pink tuxedo at the front of the church. How I wanted to smack the ever growing grin from his face.

Next, I saw Christine standing a couple feet in front of me—just beginning to walk ever slowly to meet Raoul. She had donned her veil, a bouquet of roses her arms. A flower girl followed at her heels, throwing rose petals on the ground. Christine's prettiness was great, but did nothing to cool my rage.

It seemed as an eternity as I watched her walk gracefully down the aisle to meet Raoul. The guests were cheering and whispering sweet nothings amongst themselves. The music ceased and the pastor began to speak. I cannot believe I stood where I did for that long. I had clenched my fists so hard, my nails had perforated the leather of my gloves and punctured my palms. I could smell the blood rise to my nostrils—copper. I exhaled so sharp.

The longer I stood and watched the more enraged I became. I watched as my old adversary took Christine's hands into his. The way she looked on him in that moment. The way she smiled—they way her eyes lit up. The look she gave him in that moment was meant for me—for us to share—Christine and I.

"Raoul de Chagny, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife before Christ? To love her, to hold her, to nurture her, in sickness and in health?"

"I do."

"The hell you do, de Chagny," I had growled. The entire church turned and stared at me in horror, as I stalked forward, discarding my hat, revealing my masked face. "I was waiting, ever so patiently I might add, to say I object, but you seemed to skip over that part, reverend."

"Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph!" The pastor fainted. Raoul rushed to his side.

"He's here, the phantom of the—" I turned around to see Meg Giry rushing forward.

"It would be in your best interest to bite your tongue, little Giry."

"Yessir," she yelped and sank back obediently.

"As for you, dandy!" I whirled around to the Vicomte. He flinched, still attempting to revive the priest. "How dare you lie to her face! You will not love her when her beauty leaves! You will not love her if her voice were to die! You will not love her as I have—as I do!"

The congregation gasped.

"Erik! How could you? On their wedding day!"

I turned then. So sharp. Madame Giry stood in the aisle, tapping her cane angrily.

"Do. Not. Call. Me. That." My hands were fists again. Red clouded my vision.

"Erik?" I closed my eyes. It was her voice—my Christine's voice. Frightened.

I turned then. Her face was wet with tears. She clutched her bouquet to her chest. The flower girl hid behind her skirts.

"Christine?" That was all I could muster. I felt weak. I felt weak with grief.

"You ruin everything you touch!" the Vicomte cried as he lunged at me with his sword drawn. I easily stepped aside, evading his pathetic effort to subdue me. "This was suppose to be our day!" He tried once more. I, in turn, tripped him and he landed on the floor in an ungraceful heap of limbs.

"Erik, why are you doing this?" Madame Giry asked from behind me.

"Yeah, why are you doing this?" Meg chimed in.

"You're—you're the devil!" the pastor shrieked as he stood. He clasped a bible to his chest as he pointed at me. "Get out! Get out of this house of God! Now!"

"As you wish." I bowed, threw a smoke pellet, and grabbed Christine a bit too roughly. She screamed as we were engulfed in smoke.

And we were gone. Easy.

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Reviews are wonderful. I enjoy writing this.


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